


A Star by Any Other Name

by Nina (HowNovel)



Series: Promises to Keep [1]
Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-11-06
Updated: 1998-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Nina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1999 Fan Quality Award Winner</p><p>Paul and Scott find Jenny, but things unfold in an unexpected way.... Prequel to “Friends of My Father,” though each story can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Star by Any Other Name

A STAR BY ANY OTHER NAME  
by Nina

Scott awoke as sunlight streamed through the single small window of the cramped room. "Dad--" he mumbled sleepily. When Paul didn't respond immediately, he repeated more loudly, "Dad?"

Still no answer. He rolled over and surveyed the room but could see and hear no sign of his father. "Dad!" he said, beginning to panic.

"I'm here," Paul said in the same voice he used to calm falcons, people in trouble and the occasional irate FSA functionary.

Scott craned his neck and finally saw his father crouched in the far corner of the other room, deep in concentration with the sphere. "Dad, what are you doing?" he asked with a mixture of teenage skepticism and relief.

"Just fixing something," Paul told him. He finished, rose, put the sphere in his pocket and came to stand in the open doorway. "What's the matter? Did you have a bad dream?"

"I don't remember," Scott said. Usually he was proud of his father's empathy, but he couldn't interpret the strange feelings within and didn't want to share them right now. To change the subject, he asked, "Do all life forms dream?"

"Not in the human sense," Paul explained, "but when random energy particles--"

This was more than Scott had bargained for this early in the morning. "Later, Dad," he sighed.

"Breakfast," Paul announced, moving to inspect their food supply. They had no real kitchen to speak of in this place but, as always, they made do

Scott willed himself into a sitting position, reluctant to leave the first good bed in a while. His father brought him a glass of juice and he drank slowly.

"In a little while, we'll head down to register you for school," Paul said.

"Not today," Scott said.

"Why not?" Paul asked. "Last night you wanted to. It's important to get your education and be with other kids. Isn't that what you always say you want? Besides, I think we're going to be here a while. It's been over two weeks since we saw Fox." That was a long time in their scheme of things.

Scott merely grunted non-committally. Why did everything and nothing always have to do with Fox?  
Paul sensed his thoughts. "Scott, we always have to be careful of the FSA, but whenever you can, for as long as you can, I want you to have typical teenage experiences. You're my son and I can teach you about my world, but you're also Jenny's and you shouldn't forget about hers."

"Dad, can we go see Wayne Geffner?" Scott asked suddenly.

Paul frowned. "What for?"

"To find Mom, of course. He must know where she is and it's been two years."

"I don't think it's a good idea," Paul said. "We don't have the money to go to Albuquerque. I need to find a job."

"If I go to school, will you think about it?" Scott asked mischievously.

"Maybe," Paul said with a purposely straight face.

"Are you going to be all right without me?" Scott persisted.

"Don't worry about me," Paul replied.

***

Paul signed the last form and pushed it across the desk toward the guidance counselor's assistant.

"Thank you," she said. "Now, Mr. Hayden--"

"Mr. Forrester," Paul corrected politely for what seemed the tenth time. It was an understandable and common mistake, but Scott was annoyed. To him, the woman didn't want to get it. Once or twice he and his father had considered using the same name to be less conspicuous and to avoid situations like this, but it wasn't easy for the Starman to assume another identity in a famous person's body and neither of them could bear to give up the one thing that reminded them of Jenny.

"Scott has his mother's name," Paul tried to explain.

The woman's eyes narrowed and he sensed her disapproval of their non-traditional household. He chose his words carefully as he added, "She's no longer with us. We lost her two years ago." It was the truth, but vague enough in its implication to stop further questioning. In his peripheral vision, he saw Scott blink quickly and lower his head.

Paul's words had their intended effect. "Uh, I see," the woman said awkwardly before changing the subject. "Scott, did the guidance counselor go over your schedule with you?"

"Yes, she said I could start tomorrow," Scott told her.

"Good. Here's your locker assignment." She handed him a slip of paper. "Classes for your grade are held in the old wing, so you should enter the building from the door closest to the athletic field. Do you have any questions?"

"No, I don't think so," Scott replied.

"Thank you," Paul said. "Scott will be here bright and early tomorrow morning."

Scott sighed.

***

"Excuse me. I'm here to see Brad McClure--" Paul began, approaching the fair-haired man with wire-rimmed glasses who stood at the counter of the shop.

"That's me," the man replied. "You must be the gentleman who called yesterday about the job."

"Yes. Paul Forrester," Paul introduced himself, extending his hand.

Brad returned the handshake politely and tried to hide his surprised expression but couldn't. "The Paul Forrester? As in In the Eye of the Storm?"

"Uh--" Paul hesitated just a fraction of a second as he tried to think of a Forresteresque response. "The one and only in the flesh."

"You realize we repair photographic equipment here, right?"

"Yes," Paul said. "Things are kind of slow right now and I do know my way around a camera--"

"Quite," Brad agreed. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Forrester."

"Please, call me Paul."

Brad nodded in acknowledgment. "I need somebody twenty to twenty-five hours a week depending on how much work there is. The schedule's flexible, but we're a small shop, so I need you to be here when you're supposed to be and to work hard."

"I understand," Paul said. "That will be no problem."

"You'll be paid $9 an hour every Friday," Brad continued.

"Sounds fine," Paul said.

Brad smiled. "Okay then, let's try it for a few days and see how it goes. Come in the back and I'll show you around."

***

"You got a job doing what?" Scott asked. He was sprawled lazily in a chair watching the beat-up TV left by the previous occupant. Other than a small table and an identical chair from half of somebody's kitchen set, they were the only furnishings in Scott and Paul's non-existent kitchen that was also their living room.

"Repairing cameras and electronics," Paul repeated patiently as he busied himself making sandwiches.

"Do you know how?" Scott asked.

"I think I can figure it out," Paul replied in a slightly offended tone.

"Oh, you mean you'll use the sphere," Scott said.

"No, I can't unless I know what's wrong," Paul reminded him. "I wouldn't anyway-not there. It's a good job. Low profile, pays well, Brad seems like a nice person--" He brought over the sandwiches, passed one to Scott and sat down to take a bite of his own.

"You said he knows who Paul Forrester was though," Scott pointed out.

"Only the name, not the person apparently," Paul said. "It'll be all right. I can tell."

"Just be careful, Dad," Scott advised. "Don't do anything weird."

Paul reached over and cuffed his son on the chin playfully. "Define weird."

"Anything that says ‘extra-terrestrial,’" Scott enunciated carefully with a grin. He turned back to the TV.

"Give me some credit, will you?" Paul said. "I've managed in this body for three years already." Then, as Scott laughed at something on the screen, "What are you watching?"

"'Airplane,'" Scott informed him.

"'Airplane'?" Paul repeated in the tone he used when he was confused.

"It's the name of the movie, Dad," Scott explained.

Paul watched seriously for a few minutes. "The airplane is about to crash."

"Yeah," Scott said. He was being as brief as possible, ruefully anticipating where this was going.

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Because it's funny, Dad. It's a comedy."

"I don't understand. If I were the pilot, I wouldn't be laughing at a time like that."

"Dad, it's just a movie," Scott said.

"I don't like this movie," Paul concluded. "That's why I don't like airplanes either." He directed one finger authoritatively toward the set to turn it off.

"Dad," Scott protested. "Don't you have any fun where you come from?"

"Don't you have any homework?" Paul responded pointedly.

"If I had a normal father--" Scott began

"Yes?" Paul inquired.

Scott met his father's unnervingly direct gaze and thought better of it. "Never mind."

***

"Marcus, let somebody else have a turn at the computer now," the history teacher admonished. "Tracy, did you have a chance yet?"

"Mrs. Zajac, is it okay to use this?" a girl said, coming up to show her a book.

The teacher glanced at it quickly. "Yes, it's fine."

"Mrs. Zajac, the copy machine's busted," a boy informed her as he appeared from around the corner.

"Tell the person at the desk," she sighed. She'd be happy when the school finished renovating the old wing so she wouldn't have to troop downtown with her classes for every research project. "People, it's getting loud in here. Please remember we aren't the only ones using this library."

She noticed Scott alone at one of the long tables writing in his notebook. "Scott--"

Scott looked up. "I'm sorry, what, Mrs. Zajac?"

"Isn't Kyle supposed to be working with you and Ellen? Where is he?"

"I think he went to get a drink of water," Scott said.

"Awfully long drink of water," she observed as Ellen returned with a stack of materials.

"I found those articles. Mrs. Zajac, can you look at what we've got so far?"

"Yes," the teacher said as Scott pushed the notebook toward her. "Very good. Try to expand the section on the explorers' motivations. Interesting details on the appearance of the river bank."

"That part was Scott's," Ellen told her.

"Well done, Scott," the teacher praised him. "Keep working on it." She moved on to the next group.

"You know a lot about that geology stuff, don't you?" Ellen asked.

"Some," Scott allowed. "My dad and I travel a lot to different places and we talk about it."

"Is he a scientist or something?"

"No, he just likes nature," Scott replied. "We'd better finish this."

Neither the teacher nor any of the students noticed the figure sitting by the windows reading a magazine. At the mention of Scott's name, the observer looked over the top of the pages in surprise and located the teenager being addressed: Handsome, studious, quiet, polite, a bit of a loner it seemed-- The figure continued to watch periodically for the next hour or so until the group packed up and left the library.

***

"Hi, Dad," Scott greeted Paul as he came in the door of the shop.

"Hi!" Paul said with surprise, rising from his work table. "Brad, I'd like you to meet my son Scott. Scott, this is my boss, Brad McClure."

"Hi, Scott," Brad said.

"How do you do, sir?" Scott said.

"So what's up?" Paul asked. "How was school?"

"Fine. Um, Dad, can I borrow some money? I need to buy an extra notebook and some special pens for science lab."

"All right," Paul said, taking out his wallet and handing Scott a bill. "Is that enough?"

"It should be," Scott said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Father and son exchanged smiles.

"Would you like some help with that?" Scott offered, watching Brad struggle a bit with an awkwardly shaped box he was carrying.

"Could you grab the other side before it tips?" Brad asked.

Scott quickly complied and Brad was able to set down the box safely. "There's another one outside if you don't mind," Brad told him.

"No problem," Scott said. The two of them went out by the back door to bring it in.

"What grade are you in, Scott?" Brad asked, trying to make conversation.

"Eleventh," Scott replied. At least that's what he was technically. Because he'd moved around so much, some of his classes were tenth grade, but he didn't want Brad to think it was because he was stupid.

"I don't suppose you know my daughter then-- Amy McClure. She's a sophomore."

"I don't know," Scott said. "It's a big school."

"Yeah," Brad said as they put the box next to the first one. "A lot of expensive new parts in there that I didn't want to end up on the floor," he commented. "Thanks, Scott."

"Sure," Scott said amiably. "I'd better go before the store closes. Nice meeting you."

"Same here," Brad said.

"Catch ya later, Dad," Scott said to his father, who was busily taking apart something.

"I'll see you at home in a little while," Paul responded.

When Scott was gone, Brad said, "Good kid, Paul."

"Thank you," Paul said. "I'm very lucky."

"Is he your only child?"  
"Yes," Paul said. "What about you?"

"Two daughters, fifteen and eleven," Brad said. "Also a son from my first marriage who's in college now. He's mostly lived with his mother. We see him when we can, but it's tough sometimes."

"I can imagine," Paul said, putting down his screwdriver and looking seriously into the other man's eyes. He paused, wanting to empathize but not sure how much to share. "I was away from Scott for many years. And now we're not able to be with his mother. There were-- problems-- and I had to take him with me. It's hard for children to understand when things like this happen because they love both parents and want us to be together."

"Yes," Brad nodded in agreement. This was not what he'd expected of Paul Forrester, whose portrayal in the media was anything but sensitive family man. Then again, the media wasn't exactly known for accuracy when it came to celebrities. "This job is very different from dodging bullets in war zones and getting arrested for civil disobedience," he observed. "You have a reputation for being a real hell-raiser. This place can't be all that exciting after that."

"Yes-- it's different," Paul acknowledged. "But different can be good. It is exciting to travel, learn new things, take pictures that mean something, but I'm not one for raising hell anymore. I'm responsible for my son now and excitement and being on the wrong side of other people's cameras isn't very good for him. Sometimes he needs to be like any other teenager without always being judged for who his father is."

"That's understandable," Brad agreed. "Growing up these days isn't like it used to be. All you can do is love your kids, try to teach them right and hope for the best."

"Yes," Paul said. He pressed the shutter of the camera he'd been fixing. "I like this job. Nothing like making things that are broken work again so they can capture more beautiful moments."

Brad shook his head in wonderment. "You're really something, Paul. I hope you stay around a while."

"I hope so too," Paul told him.

***

"Bye, Dad," Scott said, pulling on his jacket and hoisting his backpack up on one shoulder.

"Have a good day," Paul responded. He pressed a paper bag into Scott's hand. "Don't forget your lunch."

"Thanks," Scott said on his way out the door.

He walked quickly down the outside stairs and to the sidewalk. It was early morning and still quiet as he made his way about five blocks. As he reached the street directly across from the school, he suddenly felt a shadow and looked up. In the plate glass window, he noticed a blond woman who averted her eyes as soon as Scott saw her. He forgot about it a split second later when the traffic light changed.

***

"Do you see the hardware section?" Paul asked, making his way through the crowded department store. "I want to get myself a better tool kit."

"Why?" Scott asked, trailing his father.

"So I can do a better job and maybe Brad will give me a raise," Paul told him.

"What's the point, Dad? We'll just leave soon anyway."

"Not so soon. Besides, you need new shoes," Paul replied.

Scott had to walk fast to keep up. He was trying to process the cryptic non-sequitur when he bumped into a cheap, plastic, squeaky blow-up clown that was protruding from the toy aisle. He pushed it back into place and kept moving, only to have it bounce back and hit him on the shoulder. He sighed, turned and shoved it harder.

"My, aren't you getting violent," Paul observed dryly. "No more Saturday morning cartoons for you."

They reached the hardware department and Paul stood there inspecting the merchandise. "They're having a wallpaper sale too. Maybe we should buy some."

"Wallpaper?" Scott exclaimed at the ludicrousness of it. "Dad--" Then, "Joke, right?"

"You're no fun at all lately," Paul told him. "Are you having a hard time at school again?"  
"No, school's fine," Scott replied.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know, Dad. Something's different. I can't explain it." He added jokingly, "The new place doesn't have as nice a view as at the lake." They'd camped for several nights before venturing into town.

"No, but we got out of the rain," Paul pointed out. He paused. "Let's go get some ice cream. That ought to cheer you up."

Scott smiled. "Rather extravagant with your consumer impulses today, huh, Dad?"

"Well," Paul said, "you're worth it."

"Rocky Road," father and son growled simultaneously.

***

"Hey, Hayden," Scott's classmate Marcus caught up with him as they were leaving school.

"Hi," Scott said.

"What did you think of that trig test? Tough, huh?"

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "I hope I did okay though."

"I gotta go to band practice," Marcus went on. "You play?"

Scott shook his head. "Drums a little, but that was a long time ago."

"You should think about it," Marcus suggested, "The band director's really good here and you'd meet a lot of kids."

"I guess," Scott said, not bothering to explain why not.

"Anyway, see you around."

"Okay, bye."

Scott looked at his watch and was heading home by his usual route when he noticed the blond woman on the corner again. He'd seen her at least half a dozen times in the past week. She wasn't doing anything, but three years on the run had attuned him to that which he could only describe as creepy, despite Paul's inimitable talent for expecting twenty minute explanations. The plaintive and constant, "You know I like to learn new things," drove Scott up the wall, especially when they were alone in the middle of nowhere for days on end, but that was his dad.

Though it would take longer, he decided to go through town instead. When he looked back a few minutes later, he was disconcerted to see the woman also walk in his direction. Was it his imagination, or was she after him? He couldn't tell but didn't want to find out.

Finally, he crossed the street, ducked into an alley behind a restaurant where there was a pay phone and called the camera shop. He heard Brad say, "Paul, it's your son," and momentarily his father's voice came on the line. "Scott? Are you all right?"

"Dad, there's a woman following me," Scott whispered, his voice hoarse with urgency.

"Yeah--" Paul said slowly, non-committally, conscious of Brad helping a customer only a few feet away. "Are you sure?"

"I've seen her a lot lately," Scott continued. "I think she's been watching me."

Paul considered this. They hadn't encountered many female FSA agents or, for that matter, many other than Fox and Wylie. Fox always wanted to handle things himself since to him nobody else treated the mission with its proper seriousness. But there had been traps before, not to mention a few unstable Paul Forrester fans.

"Dad, I'm scared," Scott blurted pleadingly.

That did it. Sixteen-year-old that he was, Scott liked to put himself across as stoic, and with all they had to go through, it was a necessary trait. Paul knew the boy was often frightened, but it was rare for him to say it aloud. "Where are you?"

"Behind the seafood place on Main," Scott told him.

With his navigator's brain, Paul calculated the quickest safe escape route. Making sure Brad was occupied before he spoke again, he said, "I'll go get our things. Try to lose her and meet me at the twin oaks by the lake in fifteen minutes."

As Scott emerged from the alley, the woman came out of the drugstore nearby. Though he tried to keep his head down, it was too late and their eyes met. "Scott--" she said. "Scott Hayden?"

He stiffened involuntarily, trying not to answer her but realizing in the same instant that he just had. Reluctantly, he gave her a small nod. "Who are you?" People often remarked on Scott's unusual maturity and good manners, but this was no time to be polite.

"People call me Emily," the woman said. "I've seen you around."

"I know," Scott said gruffly. "How do you know my name?"

"I heard it." She paused. "Can we talk somewhere?"

From the way she was standing, it seemed to Scott that she was about to push him back into the alley. Suddenly, he had a vivid memory of a film warning children against strangers that he'd seen in school when he was seven. His foster parents had sat up with him through two weeks of nightmares long before any of them realized how true the threat of harm was for him. He was poised to run before the woman stopped him.

"Scotty, no-- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

A shiver went through Scott's body when she said that.

"Scott," Her voice was very quiet. "I'm Jenny."

Scott stared at her. He wanted to believe. In all their time together, he and Paul had had only two goals: to be safe from Fox and to find Jenny. But after being hurt too many times, it was hard to let down their guard.

"You don't look like my mom," he said, still cautious but wavering. Though he'd been apart from her for more than thirteen years, the image his father had channeled through the sphere in the Arizona desert almost two years earlier was burned in his memory.

"I have to change my appearance sometimes," she pointed out. "You can understand that. Oh, Scott, you were so young when I had to give you away. What can I tell you that you'll remember? Chocolate pudding was your favorite. You loved it as a treat before bed. You had a stuffed dog with a music box that played Brahms Lullaby and we'd rock together in the big chair--"

When he didn't respond immediately, she asked, "Scott, are you like your dad? If I touch you, will you know?"

Scott shrugged. The qualities that came from Paul were stronger now but still developing and very erratic. He could sense some things, but wasn't yet adept at knowing what they meant.

"Would you take me to him?" she pressed gently.

Scott looked at her again. Would the FSA be this obvious? He struggled to remember. He did love chocolate. So did a lot of people. But what if it was Jenny? Nearly three years before, he'd stood in front of a stranger claiming to be his father and holding a giant marble like the weird gift he'd never understood. Those first days together, they'd grappled hard with the concept of trust as they groped their way through their new relationship and new experiences. But now he couldn't imagine life without his father.

"Okay," he said finally.

The two of them walked in silence until they reached the entrance to the park that adjoined the lake. Then Scott turned and said, "He's supposed to be here. Can you wait while I find him?" If his companion meant harm, she'd probably follow.

But she merely nodded. Scott walked down the hill and quickly disappeared around the corner.

"Dad!" he called when he spotted his father walking along a secluded spot by the lake trying to look like anyone out enjoying the view.

"Scott--" Paul gave him a quick hug. They did that often now, never sure when they'd have a chance again. He gestured at the duffel bag and camera case he'd left under the trees. "We'd better get going."

"Not yet," Scott told him.

Paul looked at him questioningly. "Why?"

"Dad, she says she's Mom."

"The woman who was following you?" Paul clarified.

Scott nodded.

"Do you think so?"

"Dad, how would I know?" Scott responded in frustration.

"Where is she?" Paul asked.

"Up there," Scott pointed.

Paul moved over to retrieve their things, then put an arm around Scott. "Well, it's all right. I'll know."

"That's what she said," Scott realized suddenly. As they walked back, he finally allowed himself a nervous anticipation.

The woman people called Emily was waiting right where he'd left her. As they approached, she said, "Paul--"

Paul let go of Scott, strode directly up to her and took her proffered hand in his. "Jenny--" he said as Scott let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Scott, this is your mother."

Scott was speechless for a long moment. "Dad, really? No blue lights?"

"Do you see any?" Paul asked matter-of-factly. "Yes, really." To Jenny, he explained quietly, "Scott was very upset when he missed you in Saguaro, so I used my sphere to let him see and hear you."

It still wasn't sinking in. "Mom? I can't believe we found you, I mean you found us--or me, rather--" Scott stopped short. He sounded like a total dork. If she actually was his mom, he didn't want her to be sorry she found him.

"Pure coincidence really," Jenny told him. She took a step forward and held open her arms.

He hugged her tentatively, then more tightly as her warm embrace enveloped him. It seemed like forever since he'd felt that from anyone who was even near a mother to him. He'd been looking for clues that would tell him she was the same person he vaguely remembered calling Mommy, but then he realized it didn't matter at all. "I'm sorry for not believing you," he said apologetically, when they finally let go.

"It's all right, Scott," she assured him. "I wasn't sure at first either and we've been disappointed before. Saguaro was hard for me too." Then, "I'm sorry about all the years we missed. I didn't want to give you up. I did it because I had to."

"I know," he said.

"What matters is that we're together now," Paul reminded them.

"Yes," Jenny smiled. She and Paul shared a long kiss.

Scott watched them with a mixture of wonder, amusement and embarrassment as he noticed a group of kids he recognized from school hanging out several hundred yards away. "Hey, you guys, I'm starving. Let's go home now."

"That would be a good idea," Paul said dryly, disentangling himself from Jenny. "Except for one thing. I cleared out the apartment."

"We can go to my house," Jenny pointed out.

"Yes," Paul said, giving her one of his famous smiles. "We can."

***

"So how long have you been here?" Paul asked as they walked through the park to the surrounding woods.

Jenny paused a minute to think. "Almost three months."

"We're lucky if we make three days sometimes," Scott told her.

"I know," she said with a tinge of sadness in her voice for them. "I guess it's easier for one person. Besides, I change my name every time I move."

"So who are you now?" Paul asked.

"Emily Brock," Jenny sighed. "For now anyway. It doesn't matter much. It's only a name." She'd gone through so many over the years that she'd lost count.

"Do you still paint?" he inquired.

"Sometimes," she said. "There's a set of notecards in one of the stores in town that's my-- Emily's design. And on the rare occasion that one of Karen Isely's paintings sells, Lainie sends me the money through Wayne. Otherwise I do whatever I can to get by."

Paul nodded. That sounded familiar. "How is Wayne?"

"Still in Albuquerque. He's my brother and we love each other, but I try not to involve him any more than I have to. He's got his own problems to deal with. Phyllis hasn't been well lately."

"I'm sorry," Paul said.

"Enough about me," Jenny said. "How are you two managing?"

"By our wits, our spheres, a little help and a lot of luck," Paul said. "It's not always easy being Paul Forrester--"

"The guy was a jerk, Mom," Scott broke in.

"You could say that," Paul acknowledged. "Still, we've gotten jobs, hotel rooms and a lot more because of him."

"Unpaid bar tabs--" Scott added.

Paul gave him a look. "There's a friend of his in Chicago, Liz Baynes, who knows about us and has been a great help many times. We owe much of our survival to her." He put one arm around Scott. "All in all, we have fun, don't we, Scott?"

"Yeah, Dad," Scott smiled.

Jenny looked at the two of them, at once glad for the easy camaraderie between father and son and wistful that she hadn't been able to have that kind of relationship with Scott. "I can't get over how much you've grown, Scott," she said. "Even after thirteen years. When I'd see you coming and going from school, I'd look twenty times and still not be sure. Then I overheard some boy call you Hayden--" She fell silent, remembering the exhilaration of that moment and the nervousness she'd felt about approaching her son. Then, as they emerged from the woods onto a narrow road, "My cottage is about half a mile from here. When the weather's good, I often cut through these woods to get to town since by car it's five miles the long way around."

"Dad!" Scott exclaimed suddenly. Was that the reason things felt odd lately?

Paul knew what he was thinking. "Jenny, Scott and I camped in these woods two weeks ago."

Jenny took in this information. "Well," she said at last, "I guess we think alike."

***

"Dinner was really good, Mom," Scott said.

"Yes," Paul agreed. "Delicious."

"Thank you," Jenny said with a smile. "Tomorrow I'll make chocolate pudding and Dutch apple pie for dessert."

Father and son exchanged contented glances. "You remembered," Paul said.

"Of course," Jenny replied.

"You really are my mom," Scott said admiringly.

"That she is," Paul told him, glancing lovingly at Jenny.

"I wish I had champagne to celebrate our first night together," she went on, "but the best I can do is root beer so old it's probably gone flat."

"That's okay, Mom, it'll do," Scott said.

"How can root beer be flat?" Paul asked quizzically.

"It means there aren't any bubbles in it anymore, Dad," Scott explained. He took the plastic jug of root beer from his mother and poured some into a glass to inspect. "Well, it's not too bad. Of course, when the kids at school mess around and shake it, it explodes like a volcano."

"Scott--" Jenny remonstrated.

"A volcano," Paul repeated, his eyes brightening with a connection. "Like Mount Hawthorne buried under tons of lava."

Scott laughed. "You could say that."

Jenny raised her glass. "I'd like to propose a toast."

"Toast?" Paul said now.

"Oh, brother," Scott sighed. "From now on, Mom, you explain things."

"We drink a toast to something we wish for or are thankful for," Jenny began slowly, "like being together as a family."

"Yes," Paul said. "I'm thankful for that."

"Raise your glass," Jenny prompted, clinking hers softly against his. "Now do the same thing to Scott's."

Scott clinked glasses with both parents then said thoughtfully, "To Mount Hawthorne, which brought us Dad."

Jenny and Paul smiled. "To Mount Hawthorne."

***

"Jenny," Paul said, "You kept it."

She followed his gaze to the red baseball cap she kept displayed on a shelf. "Always."

"May I?" he asked quietly, mindful of her distress the last time he'd tried it on in Saguaro.

She nodded.

He put it on and turned slowly in front of her. "Well?"

"You look different-- but handsome all the same," she decided.

"Hey, what's that?" Scott asked from the couch.

"That was Scott's-- your human father's," Jenny explained. "When your dad came the first time, he wore that."

"Oh, cool," Scott pronounced. "Mom, is it weird to see Dad-- you know, in somebody else's body?"

"Sometimes," Jenny admitted. "But I'll get used to it."

"Scott, look at this," Paul said, handing him a framed photograph. "That's quite a change too, isn't it?"

"Is that me?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Jenny said, coming to sit beside him. "Every day we've been apart, I've looked at that picture, thought of you and missed you. But your foster parents and your dad have done a good job and I'm proud of that."

"Thanks, Mom," Scott said.

"You know what else I kept?" she asked, reaching into a drawer and taking out a plastic toy. "Do you remember this?"

"My rocket?" Scott asked tentatively. He thought it looked familiar, but the feeling was maddeningly indistinct.

"It came in the cereal box," Jenny told him. "You played with it for hours."

"I think I remember," Scott said. "I'd say, 'My daddy's a pilot,' and all the adults would say, 'Yeah, right, your daddy was a house painter.'"

"I never told you then, but you knew," Jenny said softly. "Somehow you knew."

"Hey, Dad, your spacecraft didn't look like this, did it?" Scott asked.

Paul stared at the toy. "No. Definitely not. What color is that?"

"Fuschia," Jenny, the artist, supplied.

"It sounds more like a disease than a color," Paul commented. "That thing was in a cereal box? Why?"

"Here we go again," Scott said.

They talked and laughed long into the night until for the first time in his life, Scott fell asleep on the couch, stretched out between both parents, his head in Jenny's lap. She cradled him for a long time, not speaking until finally she and Paul rose. Paul gently unlaced his son's high-tops and pulled them off. Jenny got a lightweight blanket and covered the boy as he slept.

***

Jenny and Paul made beautiful love that night, gentle and unhurried, savoring every minute that had been denied them for so long. Despite the aching loneliness, fear and hunger for intimacy that had pervaded years past, there could be no one else, only memories and hope against hope to sustain them. Now that moment was here and it was pure joy.

When Jenny awoke later, she reached across the bed and found the other side empty. She pulled a shawl over her nightshirt, pushed her feet into sandals and walked though the cottage, careful not to disturb Scott, who was still sleeping contentedly on the couch.

She found Paul standing outside looking at the stars, his sphere in one palm glowing gently. When he saw her, he closed his hand to extinguish it, almost guiltily, she thought, but there was no reason for that. "Thinking of home?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he admitted, putting the sphere back in his pocket. "I don't often now. The part of me that's become human is even stronger than when I saw you last. All I've wanted and promised Scott for three years is that we'd be a family someday. But now that we are, I know I can never go home again. You'd die in my world. And Scott might too. He's like me in many ways, but he's still human--unique in the universe. Until he's fully grown and all his powers have a chance to develop, we won't know the true extent of his potential."

"Did you--" Jenny began delicately, "leave a family there?"

"I left others that I care for, yes," Paul told her. "Family is a different concept. All of us are family--" He broke off abruptly.

"It makes you sad, doesn't it?" Jenny said.

He nodded wordlessly.

She reached out to caress his face and hair. "It's okay," she whispered.

He changed the subject. "It also makes me sad that I can't give things to you and Scott-- a home free of fear, a stable school and friends, a brother or sister for Scott. I see other young people with theirs and think if he just had one other person like him-- but I cannot do that to another child. I love our son more than human words can express and am never sorry for giving him life, but I will not risk giving Fox another excuse to destroy us."

"Never," Jenny agreed emphatically. "But we can work on those other things."

"We can't stay around here much longer," Paul continued.

"I know," she said.

"We can't move about freely together in town. It would be too difficult to explain how Scott suddenly has a mother and how you--Emily, that is, has a family."

"That's all right," Jenny said. "We'll go off somewhere else, change our names again and live happily ever after."

"I hope so," Paul said. "We'll have each other, which is most important, but I don't think we'll be able to stop worrying about Fox anytime soon. Not while I'm in this body. Unfortunately, I chose a famous one and I can't just call myself something else and get away with it. Being human isn't a natural state for me. It's gotten easier as time has passed, but it still takes a huge amount of energy to maintain this body and it'll be years before I can even consider cloning another."

He paused. "It's going to be hard leaving town. I've been happy here and Scott's doing well."

"Then we'll try to stay as long as we can," Jenny said. "So far so good."

"Yes," Paul sighed.

***

"Scott, you'd better hurry up or you'll be late for school," Paul warned as the boy wandered through the living room toward the shower.

"School?" Scott mumbled, still only half awake.

"Yes, school. Big building with tables and chairs and books--"

"Funny, Dad," Scott said. "Actually, I was kind of hoping we could spend time with Mom. It has been thirteen years."

"That would be nice," Paul agreed. "But I have a job to do. Payday's coming and we're lucky if we have thirteen cents. School's your job."

"Mom--" Scott appealed.

"Ooh, slick!" Paul smiled with admiration at the irony of his son being able to play one parent off the other for the first time in his life.

"I want to be with you too, Scotty, but your father's right," Jenny said. "Besides, people will notice if you aren't there. It's safer if you go."

"There are such things as colds, you know," Scott pointed out with a meaningful glance at his father. Surely Paul hadn't forgotten nearly dying from one during their first year together. "Or mono."

"Mono?" Paul looked questioningly at Jenny.

"Mononucleosis," Jenny tried to explain. "It's a sickness in the glands."

"Does he need glands to go to school?" Paul asked.

Scott tried to suppress a smile. He thought he was safe but Paul caught him, arched his eyebrows and said sternly, "Get dressed. Now."

"Good morning to you too, Dad," Scott sighed.

"His teachers tell me he's actually a very good student," Paul told Jenny. "When he's there."

"I'll tell you what," Jenny said. "I have to take care of something in town today too, but this afternoon when we all get back, we'll do something special."

"Cool," Scott said before he shut the bathroom door.

"I'll try to get home early then," Paul said. He and Jenny kissed.

***

"Thank you," Brad said to a customer, handing back her credit card and placing her repaired camera on the counter. "I trust this will stay in working order for many years, but if it doesn't, please come again."

"I will," the customer said as she left the shop.

"Well, Paul, you've certainly earned your keep these past two weeks," Brad told him when they were alone.

"Is it always this busy?" Paul asked.

"On and off," Brad answered. "I try not to worry about it much since it all balances it out eventually. I'll have this week's pay for you tomorrow as promised."

"Thank you," Paul said. "We can use it."

"Couldn't we all," Brad laughed. "Big plans for the weekend?"

"Not really, just quiet time at home with Scott--" In his mind, Paul added, And his mother.

"Sounds good," Brad said. "Enjoy."

***

"Hi, Mom," Scott said coming up the path as Jenny sat outside sketching. He came over to give her a quick hug.

"Hi." She kissed him. "How was school?"

"Okay," he replied. "Dad get home yet?"

"No," she said. "He should be here soon. There are some pretzels in the cabinet if you're hungry."

"Great. Thanks, Mom."

Scott went inside, found the pretzels and opened the refrigerator to get something to drink. Balancing the bottle of juice, a glass and the pretzel bag, he settled down at the table to read his English homework, crunching pretzels as he went.

Jenny was deep in thought and had lost track of time when Scott's shouts interrupted her. "MOM! MOM!"

She rose in alarm and started to go to him when he appeared at the door. "Dad's in trouble."

She motioned him inside, shut the door and followed his gaze to his sphere, which was lying on the table in front of where he'd been sitting. It was glowing but half dark as if the energy fields were being interrupted, its characteristic soothing hum now an odd, high pitched squeal. Clearly the Starman was trying to signal his family, but the message wasn't good.

Jenny walked around the cottage reflexively drawing all the curtains shut. Please, no, not again, not yet-- she thought. She remembered Paul's strong, protective embrace as he'd left for work that morning. She needed him. Their son needed him. "Can you tell what's going on or where he is?" she asked.

"No," Scott said. "All I know is it's bad."

"Try, Scott--"

"I'm not good at this," Scott protested, sounding like a younger child.

"It's all right," Jenny reassured him softly, standing behind him and stroking his shoulder. "Just try."

Scott tried to remember what his father had taught him their first night in a small town jail: "Concentrate. Relax. Visualize. You have to see the sphere." He stared intently at the sphere, held its weight in his hand, heard his father's voice in his mind instructing him. "Come on, Dad," he whispered. "Where are you?"

"Anything?" Jenny asked anxiously.

"Mom, it's a sphere, not a crystal ball," Scott informed her more sharply than he'd intended.

"Sorry. I shouldn't distract you." Jenny moved away from the table.

"Don't go away, Mom," he pleaded, suddenly afraid.

"I'm here," she said. "I'm right here."

Scott turned his attention back to the sphere. "Where are you, Dad?"

***

"Casey, I thought I told you not to manhandle him!" Fox snapped at the baby-faced neophyte agent. "You're not 'Rocky Meets the Invasion of the Toads.'"

"Sorry, sir," Casey mumbled penitently, hunched in the corner of the van. It was his second week at the FSA straight out of training. He knew he'd been assigned to what their colleagues derisively called the Buck Rogers unit, but he still wanted to make a good impression. Fox and Wylie had sent him out to grab the alien because he wouldn't be recognized and in his excitement, he'd gotten a little carried away.

"Forrester," Fox barked directly in his prisoner's face. "Or whatever your real name is-- Where's the boy?"

The Starman shifted uncomfortably in the narrow seat. His head and jaw were throbbing where Casey had pummeled him and his legs were rapidly going numb. He still had his sphere-- Fox probably thought the young agent had taken it-- and he wanted desperately to use it to stop the pain, but his hands were handcuffed behind him at an angle where he couldn't reach his pocket. It surely would spook them too and give them an excuse to abuse him more. He hadn't seen Casey as he'd left the shop, but he hadn't resisted once he realized what was happening. He'd always tried to teach Scott that fine line: "Protect and defend yourself, but do not hurt the enemy." Now he spoke with difficulty, pain shooting through him with every word. "He's not with me."

Fox sighed wearily. "Don't get cute, Forrester. That's obvious."

"I'm not trying to be cute," the Starman said. "I don't know. He went to school this morning and I haven't seen him since."

"Wylie, did you check the school?" Fox asked.

"Yes, Mr. Fox. Scott Hayden was in class today, but he's left now."

"What do you mean he left?" Fox demanded.

"School's over for the day, sir." Wylie reminded him.

"Well, then he must be on his way home."

"Casey and I watched the address we had for a good three hours, sir. The place is empty and there's no sign of the boy," Wylie reported.

"Did you follow up on his friends, the places he frequents after school?"

"I tried, Mr. Fox, but the lady in the school office didn't seem to know too much," Wylie explained. "She had him listed as Scott Forrester."

Fox grimaced and the Starman chanced a half-smile out of the undamaged side of his face. Once in a while the confusion helped.

"What?" Fox demanded, looking at him.

"My son doesn't have any friends," the Starman said slowly. "So there's no point in following up."

"I know you know where he is," Fox blustered. "You'd better tell me."

"No, I don't know," the Starman said. "But I'm sure it's somewhere he can be safe."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fox asked, taken aback.

"Whatever you want it to," the Starman replied. "Why are you doing this to us?"

"What?" Fox could only repeat inanely, still confused.

"All this chasing and violence. There are warrior beings, yes, those who will stop at nothing to destroy, and they are feared and reviled throughout the universe. But not my species. We're very peaceful things. If you want to know about us, why don't you just ask?"

Fox paced the tiny van trying to figure out the alien's game. Finally he asked, "Why did you come here?"

"You invited me," the Starman reminded him calmly.

"What?"

"Not you. Your people. The Voyager II, remember? I learned my first human languages from it. Jenny-hayden told me I sounded like somebody named Kurt Waldheim."

"Yeah, right," Fox recalled before he quickly changed the subject. "Why did you impregnate Jennifer Hayden?"

"Because I loved her," the Starman said. "I couldn't stay with her, but I wanted her to have a part of me as with any human parent who wants a child."

"Then why did you come back?" Fox asked.

"Because that child needed me," the Starman said.

"For what?"

"To keep him safe from you," the Starman told him bluntly. "I hoped when I left Jenny-hayden with Scott growing inside her that when he grew to manhood he'd be a teacher, a bridge between your world and mine. But he'll never be that unless you let him."

Fox stared at the alien. He opened his mouth to continue, but there was nothing he could say.

"I am different," the Starman went on. "It's understandable to be afraid. But different can be good. And my son--he's one of you."

"Half, anyway," Wylie piped up before Fox silenced him with a glare.

"No," the Starman said. "Not really. If you look at him, his blood, his cells, his genes, you'll find nothing of me, nothing different from any of you. He's Scott Hayden Jr., biologically the son of Jenny and Scott, and raised in human society as a human child. The part of him that comes from me is hidden deep inside. Unless one knows or we choose to show those traits, there's no way for the ordinary human to tell. This body too is Paul Forrester, with none of his memories, feelings and experiences, yet it hurts, bleeds, gets tired or sick and will one day die. As I've lived among you, I've also become more human, The Paul Forrester who died in the helicopter crash was a brilliant photographer with strong convictions, but I've come to learn he also wasn't a very nice person and he hurt many people. He died before he could realize that and change things, but now that I'm in his body, I can try to make amends and be a different Paul Forrester, a better Paul Forrester."

Something about the way the alien phrased that bothered Fox. Then it came to him. "Shades of the Third Reich--" he gasped.

"Excuse me?" the Starman inquired innocently.

"Mesmerize the populace with promises of a better society, then take over mind and body—literally," Fox continued in a low voice to nobody in particular. Alien Nazis! Surely the Pentagon would understand the danger now!

Sharply he said, "I've heard enough. Wylie, put him out."

Wylie knelt in front of the Starman with a hypodermic needle. The Starman winced as it pierced his skin but didn't cry out. He slept.

The two deputies exchanged concerned glances as their boss muttered incoherently to himself. All the color had drained from his face. "Sir?" Casey asked tentatively.

"Sir, I think you'd better sit down," Wylie said, guiding Fox to a seat.

"Mr. Fox, I'm not sure I understand," Casey said.

Fox looked up and managed to focus on the junior agent. "I suppose not, Casey; you're very young. Let's just say that those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it."

***

The Starman woke as Casey roughly yanked him to his feet, still shackled. "Get up."

His motions were awkward, clumsy from the sedative and from sitting in the same position too long. He almost tripped as he climbed out of the van, but he complied as Wylie and Casey led him between them into a drab, blocky building. They saw him looking and shielded his eyes, but they needn't have bothered. He felt strange, disoriented in a way he hadn't since his first gin and tonic in Seattle with Liz-baynes three years before. "I need a bathroom," he told Wylie.

The agent just looked at him with a bemused expression.

"We other life forms have to go sometimes too," the Starman pointed out. "I'm in Paul Forrester's body, remember?"

"Mr. Fox--" Wylie began.

Several paces ahead of them, Fox stopped walking, turned and sighed. "All right. Stand guard. Not you, Casey, come with me." He didn't know what else this one would do. He'd been elated to get a new agent after harrassing, groveling and filling out thirty-five forms in triplicate every year so his funding wouldn't get pulled, but so far Casey was more trouble than he was worth-- even more of an idiot than Wylie.

Wylie took the Starman down a long, dim hallway to a tiny bathroom and unlocked the handcuffs. "Hurry up," he said.

"Thank you," the Starman said. He went inside. Wylie waited by the half open door.

When the Starman finished using the toilet, he moved toward the sink and turned on a slight stream of water to wash his hands. Reaching for the coarse brown paper towels, he dried his hands slowly and deliberately with a furtive glance at Wylie, who was looking the other way. The towels provided cover for now, the sphere balanced in his cupped hands. He was still disoriented and working quickly it was hard to channel energy effectively. He was trying to pinpoint his location and to visualize Jenny and Scott, but he couldn't. A sudden wave of dizziness hit him and he slumped against the sink, attracting Wylie's attention.

"What's going on in here?" Wylie asked, coming in to investigate.

"That stuff you gave me," the Starman managed, sinking to the floor with a moan. Holding his side, he had the presence of mind to stuff the balled towels quickly into his pocket. It would have to be enough for now. He began to retch and writhe, on the verge of blacking out again.

"Mr. Fox!" Wylie yelled in a panic. To him, it looked as if the alien were convulsing.

Fox and Casey came on the run. Fox took one look at the collapsed alien and snapped, "Wylie, what did you do to him?"

"Nothing, Mr. Fox. It must be a reaction to the sedative or something."

"Well, why'd you give it to him?"

"You told me to, sir."

"Great, Wylie, just great. Now we have him puking his alien guts out on the floor!"

***

Jenny looked at the clock and sighed. Paul was really late now. According to Scott, he and his father had few rules between them, but the cardinal one when they were apart was to do whatever had to be done then come straight home. Detouring any more than absolutely necessary was just too risky. The few times Scott had chanced it were also the rare times he'd seen his father angry and it hadn't been pretty. Now he knew why.

Scott had been working desperately with the sphere for more than half an hour, but he'd quickly lost even the weak initial connection and hadn't been able to get it back in any sustained way. Jenny felt helpless but tried to keep herself busy and calm for her son's sake.

"I got something, Mom," he called suddenly.

She went over to him quickly. "What?"

"He's in that direction," Scott gestured.

"In town?" she asked.

"Not exactly." Scott furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure, but I think he's moving." That would partly explain why he was having so much trouble fixing on Paul's sphere. He stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "I'm going after him."

"Scott, it's too dangerous," Jenny said. "If Fox has him, he'll be looking for you too." She paused. "I'll go."

"No, Mom," Scott protested immediately. "You can't. You're-- human," he finished lamely. For three years, he'd negotiated, interpreted and sometimes shielded his alien father from the idiosyncrasies and dangers of human society. Now he felt compelled to protect his human mother from her own people. If things got ugly, with no way for Jenny to use a sphere, she'd be vulnerable.

"We'll both go," Jenny said. Quickly, she pinned up her hair under a kerchief and put on an oversized coat. She was good at last minute disguises. "Come on."

"This way," Scott directed her as they ran down the road and plunged into the woods.

"You know your way around well," Jenny complimented him.

"Dad and I camp out a lot," he told her. "And Dad's a map-maker." Then with a chagrined laugh, "I guess you knew that already."

He turned and surveyed the little old lady next to him, who looked nothing like Emily Brock or Jenny Hayden. No wonder he hadn't recognized her. "On second thought, maybe we should split up. You look okay like that, but we might stand out if we're together."

Jenny considered this. She hadn't been with her son for twenty-four hours yet, but already she could see he possessed quick physical and mental reflexes honed by life on the run. "I suppose you're right. Just don't stray too far in case something happens."

"Fine," Scott said. "Keep a low profile, will you, Mom?"

"I will," she assured him. "I'll just wander my way around like a little old lady on her constitutional."

Scott grinned. "I'll try to retrace Dad's steps."

"Be careful, Scott," Jenny said.

"You too," Scott said. "Good luck."

They squeezed each other's hands for a long moment before they parted.

Scott walked slowly back into town by the side streets, watching carefully for Fox, Wylie or strange cars. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He passed the back of the house where they'd had the apartment and peered in the windows. As he and Paul had few possessions to begin with, it wasn't easy for anyone to tell if they were there or not. The rent was paid up two weeks in advance, so he wondered if the landlady had noticed yet that they were gone.

Methodically, he moved on toward the camera shop. The afternoon when he'd helped Brad with the boxes, he'd discovered a shortcut home. Now he opened the wooden gate that led to the shop's back door.

Brad was just about to lock up for the evening. "Hi, Scott." he greeted him.

"Hi, Brad," Scott said casually. "Is my dad here?"

"No, Scott. He left maybe an hour and a half ago. Is something wrong?"

"No, I haven't been home yet and I just forgot," Scott said quickly. "Um, did he leave with anyone?"

"No," Brad answered.

"Okay, thanks Brad. Good night."

Outside, pressed up against the side of the fence, he tried his sphere again. He was on the right track.

He and Jenny met up again behind the post office. "The FSA was at your school," she whispered. "Two teachers were talking about it in the parking lot."

"Oh, great," Scott sighed. "Do you know anything about what's on the other side of town?"

"No," Jenny said.

"Well, we'll find out. I think they took Dad in that direction."

***

"Yes, General," Fox said into the phone. "We have the alien secured right now... Yes, General... Of course, General... Any word on the boy?... Are you sure your people have it right? Scott Hayden, sixteen-year-old white male, dark hair and eyes... No, General, I didn't mean to suggest in any way that you don't know what you're doing, sir... Yes, sir, we'll keep you informed."

Fox sighed as he hung up the phone and walked into the hall. In the next room, Wylie sat by the door reading the newspaper as the Starman lay nearby on a narrow cot. They'd removed the shackles, but he was still restrained, unable to move or turn on either side without contorting himself horribly.

"How is he?" Fox asked quietly from the door.

"Still pretty out of it," Wylie said. "You want me to get him up?"

"No, it's no use," Fox said. "We'll try later. Just watch him. And whatever you do, don't make him sicker. A dead alien's no good to us."

"All right," Wylie agreed. "Where's Casey?"

"I sent him to patrol outside," Fox told him. "Less chance he'll shoot one of us accidentally if he decides to play with his gun."

"Oh," Wylie said.

Fox chewed on a fingernail reflectively. "I don't understand it. How could that kid just disappear?"

"I don't know, Mr. Fox. Maybe they can do that-- turn invisible, I mean," Wylie said, mistaking his boss' rhetorical question for a real one and trying to be helpful.

"He must be somewhere," Fox continued, ignoring his deputy. "He wouldn't leave without his father and Forrester was too calm--"

He made a decision. "I'll be back in a little while. If the office calls, tell them I want a red flag on Forrester's employer.

R. Bradford McClure. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

***

The Starman listened idly to the sounds of activity and snatches of conversation around him. He was actually awake now and feeling more alert, but as long as they thought he was asleep, it gave him time to think. Since he could barely move, there wasn't much else to do. He thought about his aching body, about the paycheck he was supposed to get the next day and about Scott's shoes. He thought about how he'd promised to be home early, how Jenny was going to make Dutch apple pie and how he'd planned to take them to the lake to watch the stars and listen to his tales of a world with one language, one people and no war. He wondered where he was, how long he'd been there, how he was going to get out and if anyone would know to come for him. At least nobody had dissected him yet, though a technician had come in once for blood. He no longer had his watch, but they'd forgotten about his sphere, his wallet and the star key chain Scott had bought him the Christmas they spent with Stella Forrester. Usually the FSA confiscated everything immediately, but Casey didn't know any better, Wylie was badly shook up after the incident in the bathroom and Fox was busy haranguing one or the other about something. Not that the Starman needed keys. At the moment, he couldn't use his sphere or his money either.

He was more concerned about Scott and Jenny than himself, though he was less worried now that each of them was no longer alone. Scott, with his sphere skills, rudimentary as they still were, could help his mother. And Jenny too was a survivor. He Despite deep hurts that would always endure, he could tell she was much less fragile than the last time he'd seen her in Saguaro. For their son, she'd come through.

Jenny had managed to elude the FSA for the better part of two decades, including the long years when the Starman had gone back to his own people and young Scott was growing up with the Lockharts in Seattle oblivious to his true heritage. In fact, the Starman thought, it was probably easier for her now than it had ever been. As long as he and Scott were front and center, she was a relative afterthought. Dogged as Fox was in his pursuit-- and the Starman had to give him a backhanded credit for that-- he wasn't that bright. If no one had yet put two and two together about Emily Brock-- and Jenny had given no reason for anyone to do so-- she and Scott would be safe. Fox might lean on Liz for a while, but Liz was used to taking heat. Putting up with the real Paul Forrester for so long probably had been enough of a challenge in itself.

The Starman smiled at the thought that Fox wouldn't think to look for Scott in the most obvious place possible-- with his mother. It wasn't what the Starman wanted by any means, but he had to think of it as Jenny's turn-- as with Brad and his son. He hoped he'd get out of here soon, but if not, he could live with it for now. Maybe Scott would even get back some stability in his life for once.

***

"Yes?" the woman at the door inquired.

"I'd like to speak to Mr. McClure, please," Fox told her. "Is he here?"

"Yes, but he's busy right now. What is this about?"

Fox held open his badge. "Ma'am, my name is George Fox. I'm with the Federal Security Agency. Mr. McClure is a possible witness in an investigation and I'd like to ask him a few questions. Just a few moments of his time--"

The woman eyed him cautiously. "Just a minute." She stepped back inside. "Brad?"

Brad came out of the other room and met her in the hall.

"There's a guy with a badge at the door saying he wants to talk to you," his wife advised.

"A cop?" Brad asked.

"I don't know. He's wearing a suit. Something about federal security."

"Okay," Brad said. "Go ahead and start dinner. I'll be there in a minute."

"Randall Bradford McClure?" Fox asked as Brad came to the door.

"Well, nobody's called me that in years, but yes, I suppose so," Brad replied. When he saw the visitor wasn't amused by his small joke, he said, "What can I do for you, sir?"

"George Fox, Federal Security Agency. I understand you have Paul Forrester in your employ at your camera shop," Fox said efficiently without preamble. "He's the subject of a classified federal investigation. Do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of his son, Scott Hayden?"

Brad wasn't entirely surprised to see Fox. Given Paul's past reputation as a crusader, he figured it must have to do with Vietnam or the First Amendment. That or an ugly custody battle with his girlfriend, wife or whoever Scott's mother was. Maybe all of the above, but he didn't much care. He liked the guy. His expression didn't change as he asked. "Paul Forrester as in In the Eye of the Storm?"

"That's right," Fox confirmed.

"He came into the shop a few months ago. He was passing through and we fixed a camera for him. We had a couple of conversations about his work, but I don't believe he ever mentioned a son."

"So you deny that Forrester ever worked for you? I remind you, Mr. McClure, any false statements on your part can be prosecuted as obstruction of justice," Fox threatened.

Brad smiled calmly. "With due respect, Mr. Fox, I can't imagine that a photojournalist of Forrester's stature would want to work for me."

"What about multiple reports that you recently had an employee by that name?"

"My assistant's name is Paul Voss," Brad said. "It must be a computer error. The letter V is awfully close to the F, you know."

"Yes, yes," Fox said abruptly, trying to process this. Were the alien and the boy now using aliases? "Where does this Mr. Voss live?"

"Somewhere north of here," Brad tried to recall. "I'm sorry, I don't have the address and number offhand."

Fox stopped short as he heard teenage laughter from inside the house. He paced nervously, knowing he had no warrant to enter. "Who's that? Who's in the house with you?"

"My wife and our two daughters," Brad told him.

"None of you have ever heard of Scott Hayden?" he pressed once more, convinced that Brad knew something but unable to put his finger on what it was.

"No, sir."

Fox gave up. He was getting nowhere except more confused by the minute. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course," Brad said pleasantly. "Good night."

***

"Is this it?" Jenny whispered.

"What an ugly building," Scott commented.

"They always are," Jenny told him. "What did you expect from the government? Fox has no taste." She eyed Casey, who was patrolling by the guard booth. "That's not Wylie."

"No," Scott confirmed. "I've never seen him before."

To Jenny, the agent looked barely older than Scott. Maybe that was good. "Ready?"

"Go for it, Mom," Scott said.

Though she'd never been particularly religious, the 23rd Psalm suddenly came to Jenny in her head: ...though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me... She wasn't sure if she was addressing the Lord or Starman. She wandered up to the agent with a shuffling gait. "'Scuse me," she said, affecting a heavy accent of indeterminate origin. When Casey ignored her, she said more loudly, "'Scuse me, sir, you see my cat?"

"What?" Casey asked, not comprehending.

"Cat," she repeated, gesturing vaguely with her hand as if indicating the height. "Kitty. She run away, lost. I look, not find-- you help?"

"Sorry, lady, no cats here. I don't speak Spanish so--"

"I not Spanish," Jenny said, sounding offended.

"Whatever," Casey dismissed her. "Look, you're not supposed to be here."

"'Scuse me?" Jenny asked, playing dumb. "Please-- I foreigner, not understand. You help?"

Scott, in the bushes, smiled. He hadn't been sure it would work. The lost pet gambit was one of the oldest in the book, but at the very least, his mother was persistent enough to distract the agent for a while. Quickly, he jumped over the retaining wall and sidled his way along the perimeter of the compound until he was sure he wasn't in their line of sight.

***

Paul heard two sharp taps against the window as if something light had been thrown against it. He looked up to see his son on the other side. His eyes widened. Where's your mother? he mouthed.

Scott gestured toward the front of the compound and Paul's mouth tightened in alarm and disapproval. No, he mouthed. Not safe. Stay with Jenny.

Scott dug his sphere out of his pocket and held it where his father could see it.

Paul turned his head slowly and looked at Wylie, still sitting in the room. He looked back at the window. It was too narrow and too high up for him to get out quickly in his condition and it wasn't safe to go through the halls without knowing who else was there. I can't, he mouthed to Scott. Not now. Stay with Jenny.

Dad, Scott mouthed pleadingly. He couldn't understand why his father was saying this. They were running out of time.

Finally, Paul gave him a small nod. He would try. Concentrating on Scott's sphere through the window, he loosened the restraint on one wrist and inconspicuously reached for his own sphere, wrapped in the paper towels. Carefully, he set the towels aflame and lobbed them across the room a few feet from Wylie.

It was for effect mostly. With so little material to burn and just a bit of energy from Paul's sphere, it would soon extinguish, but Wylie didn't know that. He jumped up.

"Hey--" he said, looking from the alien to the door and back again. "What are you doing?" He didn't wait for an answer but dashed out to pull the fire alarm.

Paul turned back to his sphere and was about to blow out the window when he heard Fox's shout, which always carried for a good mile despite supposedly soundproof walls. "There's the boy!"

RUN! he ordered his son through the window.

This time Scott knew to obey. He ran as fast as he could down the road to an abandoned shed that he and Jenny had found on the way out of town. His mother was waiting.

His heart was pounding from exertion and fear and he was breathing hard. He saw a water spigot on the side of the shed and went over to it. The handle squeaked, resisting his attempt to turn it, and the water was rusty at first, but it soon ran clear. He cupped his hands and drank three times, then turned off the tap and flopped down on the grass to rest.

When he could speak, he said, "When it gets dark, we'll go back and try again."

"Scott, we'd never get away with it," Jenny told him.

"How can we leave Dad there when we know where he is?" Scott asked.

"I don't know, Scott--" she sighed. She wanted to rescue Paul as much as he did, but they'd been lucky enough to escape once and she didn't want to tempt fate. Scott seemed very mature for his age in many ways, but he was still sixteen. The proposal sounded headstrong.

"Please Mom? Fox, Wylie and the other guy have to sleep eventually. One person can't watch out for us and Dad all at once."

"Let's wait a while and see," Jenny said finally.

They waited quietly for what seemed like an eternity. As the sun began to set, it grew colder and Scott shivered in their hiding place. Jenny held him close, pulling one side of her big coat over him. She was completely shell-shocked. It had been a long time since she'd been so close to the enemy. She usually decamped at the first inkling that they were on to her. Seeing Fox chase her son brought back to the surface the torrent of emotions she'd fought so long and hard to control, that caused all the neighbors and relatives to whisper about poor Jenny who'd gone crazy. How could anyone want to hurt another person that badly for so long, someone who'd never done anything to him? At least Mark Shermin had wanted to learn. Wayne had told her what he'd seen at Peagrum: sterile gloves, suits and masks to guard against supposed contamination, Plexiglas cases like coffins on display. He'd also told her about Fox's heart attack and how Paul had healed him. In Jenny's mind, Paul should have let him die so their problems would be over, but she could hear Paul chide her gently, "Jenny, we're peaceful things."

"The alien." "The boy." That's what Fox called them. They had names, damn it! She remembered the first time she'd said Scott's aloud. Some boys disliked being "Junior," but she'd hoped he'd be proud of his fathers-- both of them. When after three years of struggling to keep Scott she'd finally admitted to herself that she couldn't, the name, the sphere and the tape she'd recorded at Spirit Lake had been the last small gestures she could make to keep her promise to the Starman as they'd said goodbye: "Tell the baby about me."

And Fox called her "Jennifer." Nobody ever had, even her parents when they were angry. As they'd told it, they'd wanted to call her Jenny all along, but the clerk who'd filed the birth certificate refused, saying it wasn't a "real" name. So she was Jennifer only to teachers, who invariably stumbled over the awkward combination in the first weeks of each term: Jennifer Geffner. She could still hear the snickering that made her slide far down in her seat in humiliation. Wayne had gotten into many a schoolyard brawl defending her. She'd been relieved to get married and become a Hayden. There was one phase when the elder Scott teased her with the full name until she made him stop, but otherwise she was Jenny or Jen. Of course, the only ones who called her even that now were Wayne, Phyllis and Paul.

Watching Scott with the sphere that afternoon, she'd also recalled with pride the Starman's reply when she'd asked, "What should I do with this?" "The baby will know." Even then, she'd instinctively realized that in a way her son's father was more human than she, open to all the beautiful and important things in her world and calmly accepting of his own limits. Pondering this since then, she'd slowly come to appreciate that only by allowing herself to be vulnerable could she understand what it was to be truly human. Clearly, that was something Fox, in his single-minded paranoia, would never know.

Finally she said, "If we're going to do it, let's go."

They crept up the road once more. "I'll stay there," she said, indicating the shrubbery out front where they'd been before. "Be as quick as you can and be careful."

Scott took out his sphere and concentrated. Then he frowned.

"What is it?" Jenny asked.

"I don't know," Scott replied. "Wait a minute." He took a step toward the guard booth. Nobody was there.

He walked slowly toward the side of the building where he'd last seen his father and felt the fear rise up in him. He'd seen a van and a car parked not far from there before, but now they too were gone and he couldn't get anything on his sphere. He went to what he thought of as Paul's window. It was dark.

He returned to his mother in silence. Leaning against the retaining wall, he took a deep breath and willed the tears not to come. He felt sick to his stomach. In three years on the run, he'd become well acquainted with fear, but he hadn't felt it this strong since Paul accidentally ended up in Mexico their first months together. Not even when he'd been stranded in the desert with Wayne, where his only focus had been to survive.

"He's gone," he reported dully. "I can't get a signal. They must have moved him." Then, "I'm so scared, Mom."

"I know, baby," Jenny said. He was always her baby-- their baby, though the time when she could protect him was long since past.

"Dad's going to die if we don't find him," Scott said.

"No, Scott," Jenny corrected. "Paul Forrester's body might, but the important things that are your father will never die."

Scott tried to imagine his father as something or someone else, but couldn't. He'd never known him as anyone other than Paul Edward Forrester. With each passing day, more of the human's past became the Starman's own and in cosmic repayment for the body he inhabited, he gave the first Paul a future-- a chance at redemption the human never lived to see. The Starman was Paul Forrester now.

"Maybe he escaped by now," Jenny said, trying to be optimistic. "That's possible too."

"He's all alone though--" Scott worried. Though Paul could pass pretty well now, the little details of everyday living still had a habit of throwing him curve balls when he wasn't looking. "He doesn't even have his camera."

"But he has his sphere," Jenny reminded him. "Scott, we've done what we can do. For now."

"What do we do now then?"

"We do as he asks," Jenny said. "We stay together, go somewhere safe and wait. He'll find us."

"But Mom, if he dies-- last time it took him fifteen years to come back."

"Yes, but he did, Scotty," Jenny said softly.

"I can't wait fifteen years," Scott protested. "How did you get so strong, Mom?"

"I wasn't always," she told him. "After Scott died, I drank myself into such a stupor, when your father showed up naked in my living room, I thought I was having the DT's. And my life ended the moment I gave you away."

"Why are you telling me this?" Scott asked.

"Because, Scott, all my strength and love is for you and your dad," Jenny explained. "You are my reason for being. When I had to leave you in Arizona two years ago, it broke my heart, but I didn't have to worry anymore. I knew the two of you were together and that you'd take care of one another. Now we have to do that for Paul. Do you understand?"

"Does it make any difference?" Scott asked.

Jenny tried to hug him but he pulled away and walked toward the safehouse again. Impulsively, he picked up a rock. He wanted to hurl it and smash all the windows, but something stopped him and he threw it down. It bounced and hit a nearby dumpster with a metallic thud. He stood there for a long time with his back to Jenny. She let him be.

***

Jenny came out of the bathroom drying her hair after a quick cut and dye job.

"You look different," Scott said, impressed.

"Good," Jenny said. "I was thinking of red this time, but it's better this way." Scott was too dark to look like the son of a redhead.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked as his mother went over and got a phone book.

"Picking a new name," she said, flipping open the book at random. "Takahashi. I don't think so." She flipped to another section. "Colby."

"Sounds okay to me," Scott said.

Jenny flipped the pages one last time. "Margaret," she read. "I can live with that." She looked up at her son and said delicately, "Now you."

"Do I have to?" Scott asked. The one thing he'd held onto all these years, almost defiantly in the face of the FSA was his real name that connected him to a real past.

"The world is looking for Scott Hayden," Jenny said pragmatically.

When she saw him hesitate, her tone softened. "Scott, you're my son. You always have been and always will be no matter what our names are."

"What about Dad?" Scott asked.

"He didn't know your name the first time he found you, did he?" Jenny asked.

"No," Scott conceded. He thought a minute. "Shane," he chose finally. "Shane Paul Colby."

Jenny smiled. "So where's your father, Shane?" she asked, preparing him for the questions that would inevitably come.

"He's not around," Scott replied. "He's in the military."

"Brilliant," Jenny pronounced. She and Scott laughed at this small way of turning the tables on their pursuers.

For a brief moment they forgot the danger they were in until Jenny came back to reality. "You'd better gather your things." She was glad it was late. There would be less traffic and fewer people to see them. They might have to ditch the car eventually, but they were lucky to have it for now.

"Tired?" Jenny asked as Scott came out of the cottage a few minutes later carrying his duffel bag, backpack and his father's camera case.

Scott shrugged. As his mother said it, he realized he was exhausted from the stress of the past several hours, but he didn't want to say so. He tossed his stuff into the car with a weary thump and paused to zip up his jacket.

"You can lie down in the back if you want," she offered.

"Maybe I should," Scott said trying to sound nonchalant. "In case there's a road block."

Jenny nodded.

"We should stop and find a phone somewhere," he continued. "I want to call Liz in case Dad--"  
"I know," Jenny said. "I have to call Wayne too."

When they and their modest belongings were all settled in the car, she asked, "Where should we go?"  
"I don't know, Mom," Scott said. "Just drive."

Jenny turned the ignition key, feeling eerily as she had on a dark night almost eighteen years ago when she'd driven from Wisconsin to Arizona with another Scott Hayden who wasn't Scott Hayden. Now the baby the Starman had left her was with her again, only he wasn't a baby anymore. Sixteen going on seventeen, he was almost a man and nearly as much of a stranger to her as his father had been then. The last time he'd slept in the back seat, he'd been three years old, clutching his rocket and stuffed dog. Now it was his sphere he cradled, his lifeline to his father.

They got out of town and onto the highway with no problem, but it was an hour before Jenny felt safe enough to stop for gas. While she filled the tank, Scott climbed out to find a pay phone. After she was finished, Jenny headed for a McDonald's in the opposite direction to call Albuquerque. The phone was picked up on the first ring.

"Wayne," she said.

"Yeah, Jen," he said quickly when he heard her voice.

"Has anybody gotten there yet?"

"Not again," Wayne sighed. "What happened?"

"Paul's in trouble. I'm not sure where he is, but Scott's with me. I don't think they know about me yet, but they're looking for him, so we have to run. I'll call you in a few days when we figure out where we're going."

"Okay," her brother said in a resigned tone.

"I'm sorry, Wayne," she said.

"Just do what you have to do, Jenny," he said. "Tell Scott I said hi."

"I will. How's Phyllis?"

"Holding her own. She's sleeping now."

"Give her my love. If anybody calls--"

"Haven't seen you, haven't heard from you, don't know anything," Wayne said. "I know the drill."

"If you hear from Paul--"

"Yeah," Wayne interrupted her. "I'll let him know you're okay. By the way, is he-- you know-- still Forrester?"

"Yes," Jenny said. "At least I think so. He was the last time I saw him."

"Oh, Christ, Jenny!" Wayne exclaimed.

"Wayne," she warned before he started in on one of his "Why did you have to have an alien's child?" speeches again. Wayne no longer questioned her sanity when it came to her son's father, but he still sometimes questioned her judgment. Though he admitted to affection for Scott and a grudging respect for Paul, he had a pragmatism born of their working-class roots. To him, the elder Scott Hayden hadn't been a paragon of virtue like this one, but at least in those days her biggest problem was an occasional spat at the breakfast table like everybody else. Since the Starman, he said, she'd been through more changes than the entire state of Wisconsin put together.

"Never mind," Wayne sighed. "Take care of yourself and your boy. I'll talk to you later." Characteristically, he hung up without saying goodbye.

Back in the car, Jenny said, "Your uncle says hi."

"Oh," Scott said tersely.

"Did you get Liz?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "No news." He shifted in his seat and Jenny let out a small gasp.

"What?" he asked.

"From that angle you look a lot like your father," she told him. "Scott, I mean."

"He's not my father," Scott bit out angrily.

"He was one of them," Jenny said.

"It was just Dad in his body, that's all," Scott retorted.

Jenny was silent for a minute. Was that all? She'd loved the elder Scott Hayden and after he was gone she'd come to love the Starman and to conceive this child she'd never been able to with Scott. Would it have been the same if the Starman hadn't been Scott?

Finally she said, "I gave you his name."

"Which you just made me change," Scott reminded her.

Jenny had no illusions about a reunion with Scott. For years, she'd feared he blamed her for putting him in foster care. Part of this, she supposed, was also simply being a moody teenager, but she couldn't be sure. She shared his dread at what might have happened to Paul, but he seemed to be taking it all out on her and she had no idea how to handle it. Since her brief time with Paul in Saguaro two years before, she'd always thought they'd eventually raise their son together. She'd never imagined she'd ever again be on the road with Scott alone.

"Scott," she said, "your dad and I-- neither one of us is perfect, but we've always wanted the best for you."

Scott said nothing.

"I wish I could make it better, Scott. I really do. But I can't. All I'm trying to do is keep us both safe."

Scott looked at her with an expression of such utter devastation that she wanted to cry. In his face, the one she'd studied for days from the store window across from the high school searching for the familiar Hayden and Geffner features, there was pain, betrayal and resignation that no sixteen-year-old should have to know. That was what she'd thought she was sparing him thirteen years ago when she'd kissed him goodbye and put him in the arms of the social worker who'd take him to his new home. But maybe not. Maybe she'd done the wrong thing. Her chest felt tight with the sobs she would not let out. Not in front of her son.

"We didn't eat. Are you hungry?" she asked to break the tension, forcing herself to keep her voice light. She'd taken whatever food she could fit in one bag and hoped it would last. She'd had a little less than three hundred dollars before they'd stopped, but they'd already spent a sizable chunk on the gas and phone calls. There was no telling how long they'd have to conserve the rest.

"No," Scott said. His stomach felt hollow but he was too keyed up to eat and didn't want to give Jenny the satisfaction either.

He'd been excited to see her at first. Kent and Eileen Lockhart, with whom he'd spent most of his years as a foster child, had been good, attentive people who'd given him a reasonably happy childhood. Still, he'd always considered Jenny his "real mother". Though there had been many unanswered questions, he'd held on to the conviction that she'd given him up "because she had to," words he repeated to himself and others to this day like a mantra. Shortly after Paul had returned, Liz, as a favor to them, had done some discreet poking around and discovered something else Scott had never known. Four years before their deaths, the Lockharts had attempted to officially adopt Scott but could not. A crucial page was missing from his files, meaning that on paper Jenny had never irrevocably surrendered parental rights. Whether she'd known that or meant it that way, Liz couldn't tell, and by that time, Jenny had been nowhere to be found, but Scott seized on that detail as further evidence of a martyred mother.

Now, face to face and alone with her after almost fourteen years with only the haziest of memories, his joy at finding her was tempered by his fury at Fox for wrenching him from his father and his disappointment at Jenny and at himself for not being able to save him. He didn't know what he expected from Jenny. All he understood was that the real mother he was now confronting, no matter how good, would never be the "real mother" he'd built up in his mind since he was three.

He fingered his sphere reflectively, remembering the blue tunnel of energy Paul had used in Arizona to show him Jenny. He wanted to do that, to see his father and hear his voice again, but he didn't know how.

Instead, he reached over to pull the camera bag from the floor and rummaged through it looking for something to remind him of Paul. Ironically, for a photographer, Paul never took any pictures of themselves; there was too much of a chance that they might end up in the wrong hands. As Scott removed all of the equipment that allowed the Starman to pass convincingly as Paul Forrester, he thought of all the times he'd complained about lugging it around. But as long as he and Jenny had it, surely his father would be back to claim it.

Finally, he found a small piece of paper on which Paul had written a note to himself about a long-ago assignment: "Oceanarium, Tuesday, 3 p.m." It was a silly little thing, but it was his father's handwriting. Scott tucked the slip into his wallet behind the tattered pictures of Jenny and of his once-girlfriend Kelly in San Leon. In the bill compartment he found seven dollars. That's all his life amounted to now-- pieces of paper and a sphere. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep again, hoping when he woke up it would be all over.

***

It was morning when they stopped again. While Jenny was in the ladies' room, Scott stood by the magazine rack of the convenience store scanning the newspapers for anything about a captured alien or Investigation 617-W.

"Young man," the matron behind the counter addressed him, "you're not supposed to stand there and read the paper. Are you going to buy it or not?"

"Uh, no, sorry," Scott said, hastily replacing it. He debated calling Liz again to ask if his father had surfaced yet and if she thought she could get Paul's money from Brad. He wondered if he could talk his mother into letting him drive. He knew how, but Paul wouldn't let him get a license for fear they'd be instantly traceable by computer for eternity. The Starman himself was still using the real Paul Forrester's Illinois license. Scott didn't know what his father would do when it expired-- if he was still around when it expired. He was still pondering this when Jenny appeared.

"Excuse me, how far is it to Williamsport?" she asked the matron.

The woman considered this. "A hundred miles maybe. If you stay on this highway, you'll see the signs."

"Thank you," Jenny said.

"Williamsport?" Scott asked in a low voice as they walked back to the car.

"Have you ever been there?" Jenny inquired.

"No, have you?"

"No. That's the idea."

Scott figured she'd pointed randomly at the map too. He didn't answer her because just then he saw a tall figure in a leather jacket and jeans on the other side of the strip mall and did a major double take. He was about to yell out, "Dad!" when he caught himself.

Jenny saw this and gently restrained him. "Scott, it's not him."

"How do you know?" Scott asked.

"I know," Jenny said. "Trust me; it's not Paul."

She saw Scott wasn't buying it. "Um-- I already ran up and grabbed him," she said sheepishly. "It was some German tourist. I felt really stupid when I realized we have the camera. He looked like he was about to hit me."

"Mom," Scott exclaimed, mortified. "You've got to be careful with strange men."

"Tell me about it," Jenny muttered. "Let's go."

As they were getting in the car, a girl of college age approached with a clipboard. "Good morning, folks," she said perkily. "Would you like to sign a petition to preserve wilderness areas?"

"Sure, why not?" Jenny said. Nobody checked these things anyway. She took the pen the girl handed her and scrawled a signature so illegible, not even she could decide if it said Jenny, Emily or Margaret.

The girl was eyeing Scott now. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," he returned, secretly flattered by the attention but not wanting to get into it.

"What's your name?"

Scott paused in a panic. At that moment, he couldn't remember. He knew he'd chosen something with an S so he wouldn't forget, but it obviously hadn't helped.

"Don't mind him, he's shy," Jenny covered quickly. "We have to be going, Shane. Bye now."

When they'd driven away safely, Scott said, "Thanks."

Jenny flicked on the turn signal before replying. "If it's really important to you to keep your own name, you can."

"No," Scott sighed. "I said I'd change it. I just forgot. How do you remember these things?"

"You just do it over and over again until it's you," Jenny told him.

Scott recalled the Starman's first attempts to be Paul Forrester and his words to Julie, the blind girl, long ago. Every day of their life together, his father had sacrificed to give him the tools to live a life of courage, pride and joy. Now, with only a child's faith and a mother's love to bind them, it was time to use those lessons. "Okay," he said. He took a deep breath. "Go ahead."

"What's your name, kid?" Jenny asked.

"Shane Colby."

TO BE CONTINUED... - Click here to go to the sequel to this story:  
http://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&query%5Btext%5D=Friends+of+My+father

Copyright 1998 by Nina. All rights reserved.

This story is a work of fiction based on characters and situations created in the 1984 feature film and 1986-87 television series, STARMAN. It is an amateur publication circulated without profit for the enjoyment of fellow fans. No infringement of existing copyrights is intended.

I gratefully acknowledge the contributions of the creative teams that brought STARMAN to life and of the many fans who have sustained it and have generously aided my rediscovery process. Special thanks to Todd for his thoughtful editorial comments, computer expertise and encouragement.

This story was originally published as a stand-alone zine and it received a 1999 Fan Q Award in that category. Some minor corrections have been made for this republication, but the substance of the story remains untouched.


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